Memories
by superstarAlpha
Summary: Morgana reflects a little as she sits in her chambers at the League


Morgana's heels echoed along the stone chambers of the League halls. This had once been her training grounds, her place to perfect her craft before returning to fight. Before returning to avenge. But recently, Kayle had come. Morgana felt both a peace and a disturbance in the law that fighting wasn't to take place in the halls between battle. She knew she was safe, but that also meant that here, Kalye was too.

She could both hone her wrath and unleash her skills the moment a summoner called on her whiles she was at the League. And Morgana had fought against Kayle many times. Her only disappointment was the magic spell that had been cast on the playing ground so death wasn't permanent.

She made it to her chamber at last and walked into the wall. It melted around her, allowing acces to her private quarters. The chambers never let champions in who weren't assigned to them, thanks to another spell. Again, a third one, this time for expansion, allowed Morgana to make her own living quarters look exactly as she pleased.

Now, any summoner could guess what Morgana's refuge was, but most would be wrong.

Birds chirped somewhere in an unknown branch of the garden Morgana had. The tree's fruit was coming to maturation. The small fruit was red in color and it was spiky, but didn't hurt to grip – sort of like a mace with an exterior skin similar to an apple. She examined it in its warm burgundy color. Yes, not long now until it was ready.

There was a bench that had been craved into the tree which Morgana took to. From the side, a passer-by (not as though there actually were those) would see just Morgana's enormous purple skirt popping out of the tree like some sort of massive rose.

The place reminded her of her childhood home. Behind her eyelids, she saw two young girls playing in the garden. Both had bright blonde hair, the lightest of blue eyes, and were completely untainted. Their wings were whiter than snow and sprouted softly from their shoulder blades. They were child angels. It would take them a millennium to grow into what they were now, and several more to actually reach old age.

The older one was slightly airborne, her wings grazing the air with the utmost grace. "See, Morgana. Just remember how in your head. Remember to keep your feet together, your core tucked in. It's easy."

The younger girl, her hair pulled back by a head band, letting only a single lock block her face, was getting frustrated as her wings flapped and flapped. "Sissy, I can't. I don't even know what my core is. Explain it another way."

"No. This is the way you have to learn. This is the way I learned. You really should practice more. You spend too much time in your garden." Kayle folded her arms before her, lowering herself to the ground.

"Sissy, I like my garden. Why do I always have to do what you say?"

"Because, I'm right."

There was quiet for a few minutes as the two children stared. Morgana looked on the verge of tears, Kayle was prideful as she stared down her nose.

The scene changed. Morgana was a little bigger now and had a plot for a garden all to herself. She was careful to weed it, to eradicate the infestations – she'd not have her pretties tainted – but she also let the plants grow freely.

Kayle had taken to gardening as well. Her soil was tilled in straight lines, there wasn't a weed, nor any compost in her bed. Every plant was tied neatly to poles with perfect string set at perfect intervals. Perfect. Rigid. Restrained. Contained. If that was perfect, Morgana wasn't sure she wanted it. She frowned, petting the petals of her flowers.

As she stared at Kayle's garden that Kayle had no love for, no passion for, she grew upset. The sticks, the prison, the bondage to put such life under was making Morgana frustrated. One of Kayle's perfect plants began to yellow, then to brown. A second plant of Kayle's fell victim to the same illness. Under Morgana's fingers, her half-opened blossom grew bigger, more brilliantly. Bondage killed the soul of things. Freedom, on the other hand, made them bloom.

Mograna stood from her bench. She didn't want to see that any more. She went to a small water basin just before a great, gracious, golden archway that led to her sleeping quarters. She splashed herself with water and went inside to lay down.


End file.
